


Their Glowing Colors, Their Tiny Wings

by antivalentine



Category: Pollyanna Series - Eleanor H. Porter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Character Death, Child Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Deconstruction, F/M, Fridge Horror, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, basically all the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 05:42:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4694168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antivalentine/pseuds/antivalentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Pendleton refuses to take no for an answer, and everyone will have cause to regret it. AU from Chapter 22 onwards.</p>
<p>(Yes. I wrote Pollyanna darkfic. I'm going to hell.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

> And now I want you always [...] And, oh, little girl, little girl, I want you so!  
> (ch. 20, _Pollyanna_ )
> 
> Don't you see? It was mother, long ago, that broke his heart—MY MOTHER. And all these years he's lived a lonely, unloved life in consequence. If now he should come to me and ask me to make that up to him, I'd HAVE to do it, Jimmy. I'd HAVE to. I couldn't REFUSE! Don't you see?  
> (ch. 29, _Pollyanna Grows Up_ )

 

Mr Pendleton was a rich man who had been living alone for many years, doing as he liked without having to consider anyone else; and, like most such men, he was accustomed to having his own way. He had been cheated, as he saw it, of Jennie Harrington many years ago, and what had come of it but misery and degradation? He had been left to live a lonely life without the face that he loved lighting his path through the world; while she, poor girl! had been dragged out west by that no-good husband of hers, to live and die in poverty. A man who had not even been able to buy her blessed child a doll! Didn't he OWE it to Pollyanna, whatever childish notions of duty she might have, to give her the comfortable life that her mother had been denied? Why, she should have a hundred dolls if she wanted them!

Aunt Polly, sitting in the parlour with Pollyanna at her sewing lesson, was none too pleased when the visitor was announced and Mr Pendleton came limping in. She cast such a look at her niece that Pollyanna shrank back in her chair and fairly wished the ground would swallow her up. Oh, she ought to have KNOWN that Mr Pendleton would not be denied so easily, but would come to sound Aunt Polly out for himself! Whatever would she do?

‘Pollyanna,’ said Aunt Polly stiffly, ‘you may go and tell Nancy to bring us some tea.’

‘No, stay. I wish Pollyanna to hear what I have to say, since it is about her I have come to see you,’ said Mr Pendleton with equal formality. Pollyanna’s face burned. She could tell it must have cost him something to come here, with his bad leg and his pride! Sometimes, Pollyanna knew, pride could be every bit as disabling as a broken leg!

‘Please, Mr Pendleton, won’t you sit down?’ was all Aunt Polly said, settling back down in her own chair and sending another basilisk look in Pollyanna’s direction. ‘I am very sorry if my niece has been causing trouble again.’

‘Not at all. Pollyanna has never been any trouble to ME.’ Pollyanna flinched at the implication in his tone. Poor Aunt Polly! Now she would think that she had been telling tales to Mr Pendleton, when nothing could be further from the truth. Or at least, she didn’t THINK she had said anything out of turn, unless it were that dreadful mistake about him and Aunt Polly once being lovers... oh! The truth was, her tongue did run on so, she was never quite sure what she had or hadn’t said. Nancy had said to her more than once that the only good quality she was lacking was something called 'tact'. As yet, she had been unable to establish exactly what this might be, but it seemed to be something to do with saying things one ought not quite to say, even though they might be perfectly true, because people might be offended by them. But then, why should anybody be offended by the truth?

Aunt Polly merely sat up very straight and dignified, and said, ‘Nobody can accuse me, I hope, of having been derelict in my duty towards my niece.’

‘Duty! No!’ burst out Mr Pendleton. ‘I will say to anyone, that you are a very dutiful woman. It is all duty with you. But I have come to offer Pollyanna a home with me, not out of DUTY, but out of LOVE. Yes, Miss Harrington, something which was denied me until this sweet child came into my life, and which I shall not relinquish again!’ He banged his stick on the floor for emphasis.

Aunt Polly stared at him open-mouthed, and it was only by a great effort of will that she recovered herself. She snapped her mouth shut, then turned abruptly to Pollyanna. ‘Well, child? What do you have to say to this kind offer?’

‘I... I...’ Pollyanna stammered. She glanced beseechingly at Mr Pendleton, but he only smiled encouragingly. ‘I've already told him...’

‘I see,’ said Aunt Polly coolly. ‘Well, do not let me stand in the way of any arrangements you have made.’

‘No!’ cried Pollyanna, flinging herself at her aunt. ‘You don’t understand! I told him no, I couldn’t leave you, because you took me in when I didn’t have anyone but the Ladies Aid, and you’re my only aunt, and you would miss me if I went...’

‘I don’t know what rules may apply in Mr Pendleton’s house, but that is not how we conduct ourselves here,’ said Aunt Polly, detaching her niece’s arms from around her neck. She did not like being made a show of in front of company, and it was peculiarly aggravating how the child presumed to know her own feelings better than she did! ‘If you wish to refuse Mr Pendleton’s generous offer, then say so at once, but I would thank you not to use me as an excuse.’

‘I’m sorry, Aunt,’ said Pollyanna meekly. She forced herself to look up at Mr Pendleton and saw such a beaming look of satisfaction on his face that she could not bring herself to persist in refusing. ‘I thought... it was my duty to stay here, that’s all!’

‘Quite right and proper,’ said Aunt Polly. ‘But Pollyanna, don’t you see, it was your duty to come and tell me as soon as the matter was raised, rather than hoping to settle it yourself and second-guessing how other people might take it! Do you really think you are of an age to make these decisions alone?’

‘No, Aunt Polly,’ said Pollyanna, quite abashed. ‘It’s just that after fa-- before I came here, I guess I got used to thinking for myself, because sometimes the Ladies Aid didn’t get around to deciding everything for me!’

Aunt Polly gave her that narrow-eyed look she sometimes did, as if suspecting her of sarcasm.

‘That’s enough for now. You may go and tell Nancy to bring the tea, as I asked you before.’

Nancy was making a great clatter in the kitchen, putting the tea-things out on the silver tray they used for company, and looking up with a broad grin as Pollyanna came in. ‘Well, ain’t this a turn-up? Who’s ter say he hain't come beggin' for her hand in marriage after all?’

‘Oh Nancy!’ sighed Pollyanna, sitting down heavily. ‘I wish he had! He wants to adopt me, and he will be so unhappy if I don’t go and live with him, but I don’t want to make Aunt Polly unhappy if I do! If only he did like Aunt Polly in that way, then everyone could be happy. Do you think there’s any way that he could... maybe... learn?’

‘Bless ye! Miss Polly'd be a hard person ter learn ter love, if tweren’t that way inclined.’ Nancy popped a sugar cube in her mouth, and Pollyanna sucked on it thoughtfully as she watched Nancy bustle around.

'I wish he WAS inclined to love her, but it doesn't seem so. And now Aunt Polly is angry with me, and doesn't think I've done my duty, and everything's a muddle!'

'Still,' said Nancy, 'It'd be a grand thing ter live in that big house, an' be an heiress! I won't lie, I'd miss ye sadly, but if anyone deserves ter be 'dopted by a rich old bachelor it's you, an' I'd see ye off ter yer new home with a happy heart, I would, I would!' and Nancy filled the milk-jug with a great flourish. 'What with his money an' your Aunt's, ye'd be the richest lady in town some day, an' jest think o' all the good you could do for the poor folks!'

'I suppose,' said Pollyanna, 'I could persuade Mr Pendleton to give all his money to missionaries, and adopt Jimmy, and maybe some other poor children? Oh, that would be splendid! But I wouldn't HAVE to be adopted by him to get him to do all that... at least, I don't think so. It's all up to Aunt Polly now, I guess, and whatever she decides I'm sure it will be the right thing. Why, I used to have nobody but the Ladies Aid, and now I have TWO lovely places I could possibly live! Isn't that about the gladdest thing you ever heard?'


	2. Chapter 2

In agreeing to Mr Pendleton's request, Aunt Polly sincerely thought she was doing her best by Pollyanna. He was after all a wealthy man, educated and well-travelled, appeared genuinely fond of the child, and how could she in all conscience deny her niece the prospect of one day inheriting his fortune in addition to her own? No-one could think it unnatural. After all, he promised, Pollyanna should visit as often as  her aunt wished to see her; every day, if she liked. And he spoke so affectingly of poor Jennie that Polly Harrington could not help but see a measure of justice in restoring Pollyanna to him, since it was only through her sister's foolishness that he had been denied a daughter of his own.  
  
It was sad to be leaving Aunt Polly, but Pollyanna resolved to be glad. It was terribly exciting to move into a new house, and have a new bedroom, which was much larger than her old one even though it was darker and did not have such nice big windows. Mr Pendleton's house was full of delightful curiosities he had brought back from his travels, and he never minded her playing with them, nor telling her interesting stories about how he had come by them and what they were for. He did not like her to mention her father at all, but Pollyanna was glad about that, because Aunt Polly had the same rule and it would have been troublesome to have to learn a new one!  
  
Mr Pendleton decided that he would miss Pollyanna too much if she were to stay in school, since, he said, she paid so many visits elsewhere she would scarcely be at home. When September came and the other children started school, he hired a French governess for her. Mlle Richard was a small, timid Quebecoise with very pale skin and very black eyes, whose accent, had Mr Pendleton but known it, would have made a Parisian recoil in horror, but he did not know it and Pollyanna enjoyed her lessons very much. At first he undertook her instruction in mathematics himself, but this experiment was soon given up as neither of them found much to be Glad about in arithmetic 'except,' Pollyanna said, 'when the lesson is over.' So they devoted themselves to the study of Natural History instead, which both of them found much more congenial. Then, in the afternoons, Pollyanna would run over to her Aunt Polly's, for the lessons in cooking and sewing were still kept up, Mr Pendleton sharing Aunt Polly's opinion that even fine ladies should have a sound grasp of the domestic arts. On Saturday mornings she had piano lessons, though she would rather have played outside and detested having to practice every day, and Sunday was always a sweet, quiet day once the bustle of church was over.  
  
Pollyanna found that it was not always easy to persuade Mr Pendleton to do things he was not minded to do, such as giving away all his money or adopting poor orphan children, but he did consent to letting Jimmy Bean help out in the yard, or sometimes in the stables, which he liked very much. And he was so very kind to her, taking her out shopping with Mlle Richard and ordering the prettiest dresses for her, and presenting her with a new doll or item of furniture for her splendid new doll's house practically every week, that sometimes Pollyanna thought she could just about burst with gladness, though she did feel guilty about all the poor orphan children in the world and wished that Mr Pendleton would buy lovely things for them instead, since she already had so much, and did not really need another lace pinafore or doll's trousseau. So she stored up her possessions and gave them away whenever an opportunity presented itself, such as a bazaar or church appeal, and Jimmy Bean was forever finding little toys and geegaws slipped slyly into his pockets, to delight the other children at the Home. It quite exasperated Mr Pendleton, that Pollyanna was so very good at giving her things away!  
  
'But,' she explained, 'don't you see, it's TWICE the fun when I give my presents away, because first of all I have the fun of receiving, and then I have the fun of giving, too! And giving is so much nicer than taking all the time, isn't it?'  
  
'Well yes, I suppose it is,' Mr Pendleton conceded, and said no more about it, since he took so much pleasure in gift-giving it seemed churlish to deny Pollyanna the same.  
  
Mr Pendleton's leg was getting better and stronger all the time, though he still walked with a stick and would start to limp if he tried to cover too much ground at once. When winter came, he seemed to grow restless, and began to talk of travelling again.  
  
'I always thought I should be happy to stay at home if I only had someone to share it with, and so I am.' He pinched her cheek as she sat on the floor next to his chair, in front of the roaring fire. 'But I find that I want to show you the world while I'm still more or less young and healthy enough to get about. This past year has shown me that life is fragile, and if I should take another tumble, I'd be sorry we didn't go on a tour while I had the chance.'  
  
'Oh!' Pollyanna clasped her hands with delight. 'I'm so glad! Where shall we go?'  
  
'Well, I had a fancy for Europe, but the newspapers say there's talk of war, so best to wait till that's blown over. I shouldn't like to take my little girl away and find ourselves among battlefields, no sir! So I thought we might take a quick run up to the mountains, and Mlle Richard could hop over the border and visit her people for a month.'  
  
'That would be splendid! She misses Canada so much, you know, though she doesn't cry as much as she used to, sometimes she gets a faraway look in her face and I know she's thinking of home. Oh, may I go and tell her?' and Pollyanna half-started to her feet.  
  
'Not just yet,' Mr Pendleton laughed, 'not till we have a proper itinerary and the whole thing is definite. I wouldn't like to raise her hopes only to dash them again.'  
  
It did not take long for Mr Pendleton to settle his plans, and at the beginning of December the three of them took a train north, where he had rented a log cabin. Mlle Richard was to spend Christmas and New Year with her family, and they would return home after the holiday season. Pollyanna would have liked to have spent Christmas at home, since the minister was planning a splendid carol concert and she was sorry to miss the festivities, but Mr Pendleton explained that this first Christmas, he wanted her all to himself.  
  
It was a pretty, tiny cabin, like something out of a picture-book, the roof all covered in snow and the path so slippery that Pollyanna feared for Mr Pendleton's leg all over again. There were no servants, only a woman from across the way who came to deliver milk and bread every morning, along with soup to heat up for supper. It was like camping, Mr Pendleton said, having to fend for oneself. He spent most of his time reading, or writing in his big leather journals, while Pollyanna sewed or made tea. Sometimes she went outside and played in the snow, but Mr Pendleton fretted about her catching cold, and there were only so many things one could make with the soft wet stuff before it began to spoil one's gloves.  
  
'I thought we should have long settled by now,' he mused one evening before the blazing fire, 'what you were to call me, but it's still 'Mr Pendleton' this, and 'Mr Pendleton' that. It's terribly formal. I don't go around 'Miss Whittier'-ing you, do I?'  
  
Pollyanna giggled. 'Well, we tried 'Uncle John', but it didn't take, somehow.'  
  
'Nor should it, child. I'm not your uncle, after all.' He sighed. 'What am I, Pollyanna? Am I doomed to be forever Mr Pendleton?'  
  
Pollyanna was stuck. It was so ungrateful of her, wasn't it, not to call him 'Father'? She knew he would be very glad if she did so, and he had adopted her, after all. But then, he was no more her father than he was her uncle; and there was an angel who already bore that title, even though she might never speak of him again.  
  
'I could try John,' she ventured. 'If it wouldn't be disrespectful.'  
  
'Disrespectful! Absolutely!' he laughed. 'But that's how I like you, my little minx. John it is, then, for us, and Mr Pendleton for company. Shall we shake on it?'  
  
They shook hands heartily, and then he motioned for her to climb up on his lap, where he liked to pet her of an evening, curling her hair between his fingers and caressing her. She had noticed that he was doing this more since they had come away on holiday, probably because they had left the dog at home. Pollyanna nestled into him, glad that the matter had been settled and that he wasn't cross about her failure to call him Father. It wasn't long before she dozed off, lulled to sleep by the gentle movement of his rocking chair and his hand stroking her head.  
  
Mr Pendleton was very far from such repose. How like her mother she looked when she was sleeping! The very same rosebud lips, the pale golden hair, the soft, rounded cheeks, slightly flushed... Oh, his Jennie, his sweet Jennie who had refused to be his!  
  
Yet, if it was possible, he loved his Pollyanna more than he had ever cared for her mother. She was warm and loving, where Jennie had been cold to him... and she already knew, as young as she was, that she did not love him as a father. His heart quickened at the thought. He let his hands wander as they would, safe in the knowledge that she was entirely his, now, and there was nobody else there to interfere.


	3. Chapter 3

If anyone had assumed that adopting Pollyanna would make Mr Pendleton less reclusive, they were soon proved wrong. On their return from the mountains, he let Mlle Richard and the charwoman go, saying that he'd never cared for having servants around the place and that he and his little girl could manage perfectly well by themselves. In the spring, Jimmy Bean still came and did yard work, but Mr Pendleton rarely spoke to him and left all the direction to Pollyanna.  
  
Pollyanna was so glad that her governess was able to go back home to her family that she never thought about how much she had liked having her around, and there was so much work to be done around the house that she wouldn't have had time to miss her anyway! Under Nancy's expert eye, she was becoming quite the useful little housewife, and her baking in particular was much improved. Mr Pendleton declared that nobody's muffins were as light and tasty as Pollyanna's, and that it must be because they were infused with her cheerful spirit.  
  
It wasn't all housekeeping, though, for whenever Mr Pendleton thought she was working too hard he would whisk her off for a change of scene; back up to the mountains, or out to the lakes, or down to a big city like Boston or New York, where he would insist on shopping for new clothes before taking her to a museum or a concert. Sometimes Pollyanna felt like one of her own dolls, taken out of her house to be dressed up and played with without warning!  
  
So time went on, until one spring morning Jimmy Bean came to cut the grass which had grown up over the winter. It seemed to Pollyanna that he had grown up over the winter too. It was true that she saw him at church most Sundays, but they never had an opportunity to talk on those occasions as there were always so many other people to be greeted! Over the past three or four years she had come to think of Jimmy Bean as one of the harbingers of spring, like a crocus or a cuckoo, and to look forward to his return.  
  
'This'll be the last time I do Mr Pendleton's yard, I reckon' said Jimmy rather sadly, leaning upon the rusty mower to take a breather.  
  
'Oh, why?' cried Pollyanna, dismayed.  
  
'Well, you know I'll have to leave the Orphanage soon, now I'm 'most seventeen. And there's precious little other work round here, but they're always wanting soldiers, 'specially with the war going on in France.'  
  
'You wouldn't have to do any fighting, would you?'  
  
Jimmy laughed. 'No, but I'd get a bed, and rations, and if it did come to fighting I wouldn't mind. I can look after myself, you know. I always have.'  
  
'I wish you didn't have to!' Pollyanna sighed. 'I wish Mr Pendleton could have adopted you, too. I DID want him to!'  
  
'Maybe it's like the minister says, everything comes out how it's s'posed to. I don't know if I'd have liked Mr Pendleton telling me what to do and trying to make a gentleman out of me. It's different for you, you was born a lady, even if you wasn't rich. And besides, if he'd adopted me, that would've made you sort of my sister, and… I don't know.'  
  
'I could still be your sister,' Pollyanna offered. 'Even if it's too late for Mr Pendleton to adopt you now.'  
  
'George at the Orphanage has a sister, and all they ever do is quarrel! I wouldn't want us to be like that.'  
  
'My mother quarrelled with HER sisters, too, now you mention it. Why, they didn't even talk to each other for years! So perhaps you're right, and we should just stay as we are.'  
  
Jimmy suddenly turned quite red. 'I don't know about that neither.'  
  
'Why, Jimmy, you don't think we should even be friends?'  
  
Now, Jimmy had had no real notion of telling Pollyanna what was in his heart, as it didn't seem to him that any good could come of it. Why, he had yet to be able to support himself, let alone a wife! It was far too early to be thinking of such things. Yet somehow, when he saw Pollyanna looking so sadly at him, he couldn't hold his tongue.  
  
'P-Pollyanna' he stammered, 'Just this one time… you wouldn't be offended if… Can I kiss you?'  
  
'Of course you may!' she smiled, unable to resist the opportunity to subtly correct his grammar, not that Jimmy noticed.  
  
'POLLYANNA!'  
  
Their lips had only just touched when Mr Pendleton's stern shout from the upstairs window startled them apart. He must have been watching them the whole time!  
  
'GET INSIDE THIS INSTANT!' He slammed the casement shut. Pollyanna could not remember ever seeing him so angry, not even when she first met him and he was cross all the time. Jimmy, blushing to the roots of his hair, took to his heels as if the policeman himself were pursuing him, and Pollyanna scurried back indoors.  
  
'I never thought I would have to do this, Pollyanna,' said Mr Pendleton sorrowfully, taking a whip from the wooden cabinet mounted on the wall. It was not large, but the slim leather strip with its pointed tip was frightening enough.  
  
'Then don't!' begged Pollyanna, tears in her eyes.  
  
'I don't want to, but how else will you learn?'  
  
'I'm sorry, I'll never do it again... but I didn't realise it was so bad! YOU kiss me all the time!'  
  
Mr Pendleton's expression darkened. 'Are you comparing me to that guttersnipe?'  
  
'No! I mean, yes... I mean, don't call him a guttersnipe... I... ow!'  
  
Mr Pendleton had grabbed her arm and forced her to bend over the armchair. 'I'll call him what I want to call him, if he tries to steal what's mine.' He pulled up her skirts and wrenched down her drawers. 'And he'll get a hundred of these if he shows his face around here again.'  
  
Pollyanna gritted her teeth and tensed, the tears leaking down her cheeks as the whip swished through the air and stung her buttocks. Then, to her surprise, he let her go.  
  
'Is that enough to teach you, my darling, to beware of rough boys?' he said, pulling up her drawers and smoothing her skirts back into place. It hurt so badly that she almost wished he had left the wound uncovered, but she was glad that at least he had only hit her once.  
  
'Yes, John, I'm sorry!'  
  
He helped her to her feet and hugged her.  
  
'Don't be angry with Jimmy, please, it's not his fault. He DID ask me if he could kiss me and if I'd known it was such a terrible thing I'd have said no, but I didn't think...'  
  
'Hush, little one.' He stroked her hair. 'I don't want to hear that boy's name again, do you understand? I don't want you to get a name for yourself as a flirt and a trifler. That's not the kind of woman I want you to be. I want to be proud of my little girl, not ashamed of her!'  
  
'How can I make you proud?' Pollyanna sniffled.  
  
'By behaving like a lady, and not letting yourself be mauled by anyone who asks. Your Aunt Polly would be mortified if she knew how you'd behaved! I shan't tell her, because it will only make her think I did a very bad job of bringing you up, and she would be right.'  
  
'Oh no, John, don't say that! You've always been so kind to me, and given me so many lovely things and taken me to so many lovely places! And, you know, you've never brought anybody up before, and nobody can expect to do everything perfectly the first time.'  
  
'Yet I'm not enough for you.' He turned away and carefully put the whip back in its place. 'I have loved you and cared for you in every way possible, and yet you're still as peculiarly attached to that ragamuffin as you were when you tried to persuade me to take him in! I don't understand it at all, and it hurts me very much.' His eyes glistened with tears.  
  
'Oh, please don't cry! I'm sorry, truly I am! I'll NEVER kiss him again, I promise!'  
  
 Mr Pendleton wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. 'Or speak to him, or give him presents?'  
  
'He's my friend!' Pollyanna cried.  
  
'I know, child, and your loyalty does you great credit. But you must remember that I've lived in the world a great deal longer than you have, and I've seen how boys like that can ruin the lives of the precious young girls who put their trust in them! I lost your mother, many years ago, and when Providence sent me a little girl to save me from loneliness and brighten my days, I VOWED to myself that I would never let her go. Don't you remember?'  
  
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak without sobbing.  
  
'Now, kiss me, like a good girl, and let us say no more about it.'  
  
Pollyanna was glad that he loved her so much, of course, but she did sometimes wish he wasn't quite so jealous of her other friends! When she was younger,  it had seemed so delightful to belong to somebody again that she never gave a thought to what might happen when she grew up. But then, wasn't it a glad thing to be sure of always having a wonderful home and being loved, and know that you would never have to leave? The only way she could ever repay John's generosity was by staying with him and doing everything she could to make him happy. Maybe one day he would allow her to be friends with Jimmy Bean again; but, until then, she would be a good girl and continue to do whatever he asked of her.  
  
It was perhaps a week or so afterwards, and Pollyanna had almost succeeded in erasing the whole incident from her mind, when Mr Pendleton said, quite abruptly, as they sat together in the parlour after dinner:  
  
'My dear girl, I've been thinking, and it seems to me that the only way to keep you out of mischief will be to marry you myself!'  
  
That Pollyanna had not seen this coming was evident from the unguarded gasp which escaped her mouth as the sock she was darning fell out of her hand and back into her workbasket.  
  
'But… how? I'm only sixteen, and you're...' She was about to say 'so old' but recollected Nancy's remarks about tact, and diverted her attention to finding the sock.  
  
Mr Pendleton laughed, but it was not a merry sort of laugh. 'We can wait a few years, if you need time to get used to the idea. But really we may as well be married as not. You know it's not uncommon for fellows to marry their wards. Looking after them as we do, it's only natural that sometimes… if the girl is good, and pretty, and brings light into their lives, as you do, my Pollyanna… well, it's hardly surprising that I should love you dearly, and want to keep you with me always, is it?'  
  
'I suppose not,' Pollyanna murmured. She knew she OUGHT to be glad, but somehow all she could think about was Jimmy Bean. She had never seen him in a romantic light before he had asked to kiss her, yet she suddenly felt quite downcast that she would never have the chance to kiss him again. If only he were the one proposing to her right now, rather than John Pendleton! How happy and excited she would have felt! She blinked, hard, not wanting to let the tears fall.  
  
'Are you crying, my love?'  
  
Pollyanna sniffed and shook her head. 'I just… I'm so happy, John!'  
  
And after all, if she were a married woman, there could be no more impropriety in her being friends with Jimmy Bean, could there? 


	4. Chapter 4

Over the following two years, it gradually became known among the citizens of Beldingsville that Mr Pendleton and Pollyanna were to be married; and, even if some people looked askance at the gap in age between them, nobody could deny that he was much happier nowadays than he had been during all those sour, miserable years of living alone. Most folks thought it was splendid that Pollyanna's cheerfulness and goodness should be rewarded by such an eligible match, and even those who were inclined to disapprove had to admit that he was hardly the first wealthy gentleman to take a much younger wife. Even Aunt Polly could not find it in her heart to raise objections, since all the arguments for letting him have Pollyanna in the first place still applied, and, as he pointed out, it was only to be expected that having finally gained her presence in his home he should be unwilling to give her up to some other man!  
  
As the day of the wedding grew closer, Aunt Polly recollected that there was a certain conversation that Pollyanna's mother would have needed to have with her daughter prior to the event, and that it was her duty as Pollyanna's only female relative to ensure that this exchange took place. Naturally, this was a source of some anxiety to Aunt Polly. She thought that the information would probably be best coming from a married woman and planned to ask the minister's wife if she would step in; but when it came to the point, she could not quite bring herself to raise such a delicate subject with her. No; Pollyanna was HER niece, and it was her duty to prepare her for married life. So she took down her trusted ladies handbook, gleaned what she could from it, and summarised the business in the vaguest of terms to Pollyanna.  
  
'Oh!' said Pollyanna. 'Do you mean what happens in bed at night? You needn't worry, he's been doing that for years.'  
  
'What?' snapped Aunt Polly, entirely too shocked to remember her manners.  
  
'Oh yes, John likes it a lot,' said Pollyanna blandly. 'I did ask him a few times not to do it any more, but he said he couldn't help it. It isn't very pleasant, so I just play the game and think of all the worse things that could be happening, and then I'm always SO glad when it's over and I can go to sleep! I do take an aspirin before bed sometimes, and that helps numb the pain a little bit. I wonder why the book doesn't mention that?'  
  
Aunt Polly sat thunderstruck, her hands folded in her lap, the power of speech beyond her.  
  
'Is it really something that other men do? With their wives?' Pollyanna continued. 'How funny! I always thought it was just one of John's strange ways.'  
  
'Does he hurt you... very badly?' Aunt Polly almost whispered.  
  
'Oh, he doesn't mean to! He thinks I like it too, in spite of what I told him. It's just... well, you know... it isn't very nice, but he's been so good to me, it would be very ungrateful to make a fuss about it, don't you think? There are so many nicer things to think about! I still want to have All Things Bright and Beautiful sung at the service, even though John thinks there's too many verses, but I don't think you CAN have too many verses of such a glad hymn! And I've been thinking about my bouquet and I think I should like to have some wild flowers in there, the poppies in the churchyard are so pretty.'  
  
Pollyanna smiled brightly, but the smile did not reach her eyes. It occurred to Aunt Polly that she could not remember it ever having done so.  
  
As soon as Pollyanna had gone, Aunt Polly buried her head in her hands and muttered 'My God! What have I done?'  
  
It was too dreadful to contemplate, but she could not think of anything else. She had given her sister's child into the hands of a monster without morals or scruples. She would stop the wedding, she would have Pollyanna back to live with her, she would give her all the clothes and books and pretty things she could possibly wish for, she would give her better things to be Glad about than ceasing to be molested by that man...  
  
But Pollyanna was not a child anymore. He had seen to that. If this terrible thing was really true, the poor girl could easily be with child already. There was no way of extricating her from this situation with her virtue intact. She must marry him. The thought made her sick to her stomach, but it was too late now. The damage was done.  
  
And it was all her own fault! She forgot, now, that at the time it had seemed the best thing for Pollyanna, and castigated herself for neglecting her duty, letting the girl go out of the family, and failing to be a good aunt. She had thought only of herself, and restoring her life to something like the calm ordered state it had been in before the girl's arrival. Selfish, selfish, selfish!  
  
Nancy had never seen Miss Harrington in such a state before. She took to her bed, would not eat and could hardly speak. The doctor came and diagnosed nervous exhaustion, not uncommon among women of her age, he said. The only treatment was complete and total rest.  
  
So Aunt Polly did not attend the wedding, nor did she see Pollyanna again before it took place. She did, in defiance of doctors orders, scribble letters to both the bride and the groom. Pollyanna's letter was short, stiff and cold, apologising for her inability to attend and hoping that the day went well. She was so burdened with guilt that even that was difficult to write. What could she say to her? There were no words that were appropriate.  
  
To Mr Pendleton, she was less restrained:

> Mr Pendleton,
> 
> You have heard no doubt that I am unwell. Let me assure you that even if I were in perfect health I could not bring myself to attend your wedding. The last time I spoke to her, Pollyanna innocently let slip that you had been violating her in an unspeakable way for some time. She has no notion of how wrong this is and I will never undeceive her, so you need not worry on that score. Your despicable secret is safe, but YOU know very well what you have done. I cannot expose you without also exposing that dear child, but One above knows all, and will judge all, and, I trust, will surely punish all.
> 
> I have nothing else to say to you besides that I will never again allow you to have the care of an innocent child. If, heaven forbid, anything should befall my niece, I alone will raise any children she might have, and if necessary, believe me, I will indeed broadcast your crime in order to ensure their safety.
> 
> M. Harrington

Mr Pendleton, upon reading this letter, grew pale. He put it up in his jacket pocket and got on with fixing his buttonhole in the mirror, his hands shaking unwontedly as he did so. How DARE she accuse him of 'violating' his own Pollyanna, his own wife? Yes, the world might think it wrong that he had assumed the rights of a husband before his wedding day, but what could the petty, conventional world, let alone a chilly spinster like Polly Harrington, understand of his great love? He had travelled enough to know that customs varied from place to place; why, if he'd crossed the state border he could have married her at thirteen! She was his little girl and his alone, and after today not even that interfering jealous aunt of hers would be able to gainsay him. 'Broadcast his crime', indeed! As if he would stay around to have his name besmirched, and the reputation of his beloved soiled! The woman was clearly insane!  
  
Perhaps he ought to take Pollyanna away for good. It would serve Miss Harrington right, and teach her not to write mad blackmailing letters! He snatched up his cane and, with a grim expression, set off for church.


	5. Chapter 5

'When this silly war is over, and the baby has been born, I'll finally be able to take you to Paris! London first, of course, for we must see some Shakespeare in his native land, and the antiquities in the British Museum, but Paris is the place I want you to see most. The Louvre, Notre Dame, La Tour Eiffel… do you remember that little diorama you liked so much? What a shame Mlle Richard had to leave before you were fluent!' Mr Pendleton reached across the breakfast table and gently touched his young wife's hand. 'Are you all right, my darling? You look flushed, and you haven't touched your egg.'  
  
Pollyanna smiled listlessly. 'Oh, you know how it is, I thought I'd stopped feeling nauseous, but it seems to have come back all of a sudden. I think it must be the heat.' She fanned herself with an envelope. 'I'm glad we're so close to the sea here! Imagine how hot it must be further inland!'  
  
'Perhaps you should go and lie down for an hour or two, until it passes.'  
  
'Would you mind terribly if I did? I do have a little bit of a headache.'  
  
'Of course not! I'll tell the landlady you're not to be disturbed.'  
  
'Thank you, John.' She rose, a little unsteadily, and he helped her to the door. Her hand was indeed hot to the touch, poor little girl! He hoped she hadn't caught the cold with which their next-door neighbor had been laid up for the past two days, coughing so violently that neither of them had much sleep last night. No wonder Pollyanna had a headache.  
  
Returning to his seat, Mr Pendleton took a sip of coffee and picked up the newspaper, but it was hard to focus on international affairs when busy daydreaming of the future. As it turned out, their marriage hadn't come a day too soon, as by his calculations her courses had already stopped a month or two before the wedding. It was as well that her aunt's actions had prompted him to insist on staying away from Beldingsville for a while, or people might have started to gossip. Pollyanna hadn't wanted to leave her sick aunt, of course, but he managed to persuade her to heed the doctors and allow her to recover in peace. After honeymooning in New York, they were staying in Boston for a few weeks while he met with his publishers and decided where they should travel next. They ought to remain on the coast for now, he thought, since she was finding the August heat oppressive, and then perhaps head south for the winter…  
  
When he went up to check on Pollyanna, he found her asleep, sprawled across the bed in her petticoats, the pillows and coverlet flung away from her as if she had been tossing and turning. He put his hand to her forehead; she was burning up! He hurried downstairs to fetch iced water and call for a doctor.  
  
The doctor did not arrive for a long while, and by the time he eventually turned up Mr Pendleton's own head was aching and his throat was feeling scratchy and strange.  
  
'I called you five hours ago!' he protested as the doctor took Pollyanna's temperature. 'My wife is with child, I'll have you know!'  
  
'I'm sorry sir,' said the doctor, peering at the thermometer with a frown, 'but this sickness is spreading like wildfire at the moment, and I couldn't get here any sooner.'  
  
'Don't mind John,' said Pollyanna soothingly, 'He's just worried about me, that's all, and he didn't get much sleep last night.'  
  
'There's not much I can do anyway. As I say, everyone's coming down with it. Just keep applying the cold compresses, drink plenty of water, take some aspirin and rest.'  
  
'I don't think I could do anything BUT rest, Doctor,' Pollyanna murmured. 'I'm so achy and tired!'  
  
The next few days were dreadful ones. Mr Pendleton had not felt so ill since the time he caught malaria while cruising down the Nile. The landlady was very good, and let him have a cot-bed at no extra cost so they would not have to share a sickbed. He was too poorly to do much in the way of nursing Pollyanna himself, but the landlady kept them supplied with water and ice and even managed to find them a bedpan. Pollyanna was not delirious, exactly, but she did have nightmares that made her cry out at intervals and mutter things about fires, and trains, and angels. He slept fitfully, for a couple of hours at a time, till the days and nights blurred into one and he was not sure what time of day it was, or even what city they were in. Occasionally, when his limbs felt so heavy he could not imagine how he could ever get up again, he feared that this was the end. He was not young and strong like Pollyanna, after all; he was past fifty, and it was fifteen years or more since he had fought off that fever in Egypt. Back then, he hadn't cared overmuch whether he lived or died; now, he prayed fervently that he might be spared at least long enough to see his child born.  
  
As expected, Pollyanna rallied before he did; getting up, putting on a fresh nightgown, and requesting a bread roll with her chicken broth. She opened the windows wide, letting light and air into the fetid room.  
  
'Those clouds look like rain,' she observed. 'I'm so glad! It'll make everything cooler and fresher.'  
  
He was drifting back into oblivion, and was too tired to reply. How could he have known that they were the last words he would ever hear her say?  
  
He was startled awake by a commotion in the room, the door banging shut. Prising his eyes open, he saw the chambermaid bent over Pollyanna's bed, propping her up with pillows. There was a terrible wheezing sound. He thought it was a broken bellows and wondered what damn fool was trying to light a fire in this heat, but then he realised it was coming from her. He staggered to his feet. The room shifted around him, tilting from side to side as he went to investigate. Her eyes were closed, her nostrils bloodied, and that noise! It did not sound human.  
   
'Sir, please! Sit yourself back down. The missus has sent for the doctor.'  
  
He wanted the old feverish fuzziness back, but everything his eyes rested upon seemed to glitter with sickening clarity. A handkerchief, soaked poppy red right down to the lace trim and the hand-stitched monogram. A half-eaten bread roll, grown stale on its plate. And the rain, bruising the glass, a hundred senseless rivulets all running down and away.  
  


* * *

  
When Pollyanna's letters stopped, Aunt Polly tried not to fret. Perhaps she was unreasonable, expecting her niece to keep writing when there was never any reply. She was out of bed now, and starting to take up her chores again, but when she sat down to write to Pollyanna she found that the words would not come. She wanted to ask Pollyanna to forgive her, but at the same time she did not feel that she deserved to be forgiven, and in any case how could she raise the dreadful subject ever again?  
  
Still, the newspaper stories about the influenza epidemic were undeniably worrying and compelled her, finally, to pick up her pen and inquire whether all was well.  
  
The morning that Nancy brought the letter in with the rest of the post -- an envelope in an unfamiliar hand, with a Boston postmark -- her sense of foreboding was enough to make her call Nancy back, and ask her to stay. She opened everything else first, but still the envelope remained.  
  
The landlady expressed regret for the sad news she was obliged to deliver. Though their acquaintanceship was tragically brief, she had found Mrs Pendleton to be a delightful young woman. Mr Pendleton was gone to a sanitorium but she was not sure which one. Due to the epidemic it had unfortunately been impossible to arrange a funeral, but she was assured the young lady had had a Christian burial…  
  
Polly Harrington handed the letter to Nancy and, without a word, went back to bed.  
  


* * *

  
A strange thing happened after that. The people of Beldingsville began playing the game. They spoke of how glad they were that the community was coming together to organize the memorial service, rich and poor alike. Neighbors who had previously passed each other in the street with barely a hello were now working side by side, sharing their recollections of poor young Pollyanna and their ideas of how her life might best be commemorated.  
  
On the morning of the service, in spite of all her protestations and firmly-expressed wishes to be left alone, Miss Harrington was bundled into a wheelchair by Nancy and the doctor. The sight which greeted her as they entered the church was astounding. She had never in all her years seen the pews so full, packed to bursting with old and young, withered old widows and squalling babies, nor so many flowers in one place, blooming from every nook. Dozens of prisms and mirrors hung at the stained glass windows, casting strange, dancing lights wherever one looked, in every color imaginable. And at the center of it all, in place of a coffin, was a picture of Pollyanna in her wedding dress, grave-faced and clutching her bouquet.  
  
As the congregation launched into 'All Things Bright and Beautiful', Aunt Polly gazed around her at the fairylike lights, bouncing from the whitewashed walls. If the wedding had been too painful for her to attend, she thought, this funeral was the most joyful she could ever hope to witness. She decided that she would be Glad too. She would be glad that the poor girl was at peace now, with her mother and father and all her lost siblings. She would be glad that Pollyanna had been spared another ten or twenty years atoning for her mother's sins. But mostly, she thought, she would be glad that Pollyanna would never have to strive to be glad again.  
  
It must have been exhausting.


End file.
